down the stairs and to a little side door of the museum, which he unlocked.
Four men darted across the street and through this door. It was locked again immediately.
"All of them down and out!" the man who had been inside reported. "We'll have to work swiftly. They'll be expecting a guard to show his face at the door at the end of the hour. Come with me—I know the paintings the boss wants."
"How about that electric current?" one asked.
"I turned it off, of course. Hurry!"
They ran up the stairs and into one of the galleries. The man who had been inside indicated six paintings. Men crawled beneath the protecting railings, drew knives and started cutting the paintings from their frames.
"No time to waste!" the leader informed them. "We've got about fifteen minutes more."
He ran to one of the windows and glanced out at the street. The crowd was growing larger. The police had ascertained that the man who had fallen was not shot, but had stumbled in his mad haste to get away. The two men had been arrested, and the patrol auto called. None of the police had started back toward the museum, though some of them glanced in that direction now and then.
Inside, the paintings had been cut from their frames and made into rolls. The rolls were tied up with rope and then lashed together.
"Out you go!" said the man who had hidden inside.
They hurried down the stairs and to the little side door. The one ahead opened it and glanced out.
"Coast all clear!" he announced.
Two went first, carrying the roll of paintings
